Baby Talk
by xoxoemily
Summary: Santana reflects on her life as a suburban housewife. A day in the life, times eleven. No longer a oneshot.
1. Conception

**I dont even know what this is, I was bored. So read it? :)**

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><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

She slaps him upside the head on Monday morning, shaking him out of his weekend slumber, preparing him for the trials and tribulations of the workweek to come.

"Ow, Jesus, Santana. You could have just yelled or something," he says, sitting up in their king-sized bed, the first thing they bought for their humble abode. When they had bought the house, the realtor had told them this was the neighborhood to watch, the perfect place for a family, and handed them a flyer full of hyphenated adjectives. Three-bedroom. Bungalow-styled. Old-style charm. Walking-distance to Lima. Well, it was enough to captivate her dipshit of a husband, who signed the deed immediately. And now she's stuck in the suburbs. Fuck her life.

"Yeah, like that would have worked," she retorts. Seven A.M. in the Puckerman house sees a lot of yelling, rushing, panicking. She's hopped off her side of the bed now, and turned her back to him as she pulls her satin slip over her head to change into her day clothes.

He doesn't know why she bothers. "I don't know why you've turned around, Santana. I've seen you naked a million times." They are married, after all. And have a kid. And Puck and Santana, for God's sake.

"Well, it's not going to be a million and one, not today," she says, reaching for a pristine white shirt that's sure to be ruined later on. He gets up on his hand and knees and crawls across the bed and gets up to stand behind her. He wraps his arms around her slender body, and of course his hands are already roaming up to her bra, searching for the front clasp. She tenses, out of habit, and stiffens in his hold.

"You know, you don't need to suck in your stomach, babe. You look hot."

Jackass. She really wants to throw her Tummy-Tuck Spanx at him. But instead, she pushes him away.

"What?" he asks. He thought he was being sweet. So she's not as skinny as she used to be, but compared to normal women, and women who haven't even been pregnant, she's tiny.

"When you tell me I look good when I obviously look like shit, it makes you a liar. And then that makes me think of all the other times you've lied to me."

"Like what?"

She's putting her legs into a pair of jeans, and shimmies so that the denim covers her hips. "I don't know, how about, 'I'll be home by seven tonight, promise' or 'Of course I picked up diapers at the store' or, oh, my personal favorite, "Don't worry, I'll pull out in time'." He chuckles and cocoons her now fully-clothed body again in his bare arms.

"Someone's in a bad mood today," he whispers into her ear, his fingers tracing the scar on her lower abdomen that despite every expensive cream she's bought, won't fade. Fucking C-sections. Well, she sure as hell wasn't going to push a fucking baby out of her vagina, thank you very much.

"It's not fair," she whines, leaning into him.

"What?"

"You get to leave, and I have to stay here all day."

"No, Santana. I have to go to work and sit in a cubicle for ten hours, and you get to spend the whole day with Kerry. That's not fair."

"Stretch marks aren't fair. Don't you dare think you have it worse than me."

"So you don't like spending quality time with our baby?"

She doesn't respond the question he's asked her. "I'd rather it be you," she pouts, looking up. He chuckles again, gives her a kiss, before jumping into the shower.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

She's ready to rip her hair out. Not that there's that much to rip out. She can hardly remember having long hair. These days, it's a shoulder-length bob that usually ends up looking like a bird's nest by three o' clock.

"Kerry, baby, please just eat a bite, for Mommy. You're hungry," she coos, doing the one thing she promised she'd never do, not even to real babies-baby talk. But hey, she's getting desperate.

"No!" her daughter yells. Kerry is in the middle of the "Terrible Twos," and every day, she chooses to only eat food of a certain color. Mondays are blue. Where the fuck is she going to find blue food to feed her daughter? She can't eat blueberries all day long. "I don't want carrots!" Then Kerry decides to pound on the table, flipping the entire bowl of carefully strained and star-shaped carrot bits onto the floor.

God, she really cannot wait for naptime.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

"What do you want, Kerry?" Santana sighs exasperatedly. She's tried everything, and nothing will spell Kerry for a minute so that she will fall asleep. She's tried rocking, bribery, singing, all the things that usually work. Before, she never really understood those crazy women criminals that got stuck in jail for smothering their children. Now? It's an entirely different story.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Kerry screams.

"Me too, Kerry. Me, too," she sighs.

"Daddy!" Kerry repeats.

"Okay, Kerry. You win. I will call Daddy," she sighs, picking up the phone. She's not really supposed to call him at work anymore, not after what happened last time. Let's just say, phone sex and shared work lines don't mix.

"Hello?" he grumbles.

"Please talk to your daughter, who refuses to do anything I say, because all she wants is Daddy," she snaps without a greeting. He likes the way she completely disregards that this demon child is her daughter too.

"Hi Kerry," he says, his deep voice projecting all around the nursery via speakerphone. She can hear his floozy of a secretary "Aww"-ing the background and she's mad all over again.

"Daddy!" Kerry laughs. Kerry doesn't have a limited vocabulary, honestly, but she does like certain words more than others. For example, "Daddy." The same way she likes certain people over others. Again, Daddy.

"Kerry, can you take a nap please? Mommy's very grouchy and Daddy doesn't like it when she's grouchy," he reasons. He can practically see Santana rolling her eyes.

"Okay, daddy," Kerry blips.

Okay?That's it? What does that mohawked jackass have that she doesn't, other than magic baby whispering powers?

"Night, night, Mommy," Kerry says, curling up into the nook of Santana's neck so that her mother can inhale that sweet baby smell. Twenty minutes later, she's out.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

She really doesn't know how those women on television do it, the ones with eight or fourteen or twenty children. She's only got one, and she still busts her ass everyday just to get dinner on the table at seven. Where's her TV show?

It's not like she's a single parent. They're financially secure, and both of them are committed to Kerry, and to each other. But when Puck helps, he ends up doing more harm than benefit. Like last Friday, when they went over to Mama Puckerman's for shabbat. All she needed him to do was dress Kerry, and she was going to load the car, get the snacks, fill the diaper bag.

Instead, as she was locking the carseat into the sedan, the father-and-daughter pair emerged from the house, eliciting a gasp from her.

"What in the world is our daughter wearing?" she cried, her eyes scanning the toddler in her husband's arms. Kerry donned a pair of pink leggings with the purple Stars of David on them (a gift from his mother, gag) and a purple sweater with kittens on them (a gift from Rachel Berry, even more gags). Kerry had never worn either, Santana had forbidden it.

"What? Matching colors, right? Purple and purple!" he said in defense. Obviously, she made him go upstairs and change Kerry again, this time into a fur-lined Juicy Couture sweatsuit that she had conned him into buying.

So she and Puck have their roles. He's the fun one who plays with their daughter on the floor and tickles her until she falls into a mess of giggles. She's the one who makes sure their daughter isn't dead and teaches her the important shit. They complement each other, and that's part of the reason this whole arrangement, this happy family thing, has worked so well so long.

She pours herself another cup of coffee, relishes in the temporary freedom she has, and waits for her daughter to wake up. It'll happen soon enough.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM<strong>

She can hear the car rumbling in the driveway. He's home.

Hallelujah.

It's possibly been the worst day ever as a stay-at-home mom. Even the word sounds ugly. Stay-at-home mom. God.

She's standing in front of the stove, stirring the pot of pasta sauce. She hears the familiar drop of his keys on the windowsill, the kick of his shoes against the foyer wall. He comes to the kitchen and gives her a kiss on the cheek from behind her. She spins around, and when she sees what he has in his arms, she nearly drops the ladle in the pot.

"What the fuck?" she spits out. His eyes bulge out temporarily and gesture to the teary-eyed child he's carrying. It's not that she's unaware that she's cursed in front of their daughter. Oh she knows, she just doesn't care. Not today, at least.

"What? She was crying!" he says.

"Yeah! Cause she was being naughty. It's called a time-out corner for a reason, Puck. How am I supposed to discipline our daughter when you're there to rescue her from punishment every time?" she says indignantly, putting her hands on her hips. She pries Kerry from his arms (which is harder than you'd think, since the girl is holding on for dear life to "daddy, daddy").

"Go play, honey," she says softer this time, and gently pushes their daughter out the kitchen. Kerry looks glad to be off the hook, and dashes out.

"What did she do?" he says. He's never here for Kerry's tantrums and lash-outs, but he can imagine, since Santana never fails to alert him in excruciating detail about what she has to deal with.

"She was being sassy. And she hit me because I wouldn't let her have a cookie before dinner. No daughter of mine is going to talk back," Santana complains.

He laughs again. "She's just like you."

She glares at him momentarily, but revels in the thought that even if Kerry likes Puck better in every aspect, at least she will have something in common with her daughter.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

At last, silence. There is no crying, no screaming, no desperate sighs. Kerry is in bed, sleeping soundly and well fed.

She is exhausted. But of course, she can't go to bed because she has a huge stack of preschool applications to fill out. Quinn practically ripped out the phone book the last time she came over and found out Santana hadn't put Kerry on a waiting list yet. Her husband walks over and starts massaging her shoulders, and she is so glad she married the bastard.

"I appreciate you, you know. I know it's tough for you to be inside all day being a mom. And I get that you want to strangle everyone every once in a while. But just know, I am so glad you're still here, still Kerry's mom, and still my wife," he says. It's true. She could have left at any time, and she has thought about it before, but then Kerry always does something adorable or Puck always brings home some type of jewelry that makes her glad to be a suburban housewife, at least for the time being.

"Thanks, baby," she replies quietly, pulling out the chair next to her. He obliges and sits beside her.

"Put those away, you need a break. It's not Harvard, Santana. We have a Jewish Latina daughter. She's going to get into preschool, even that pretentious boarding one in Canada."

"We are not sending our daughter to Canada," she says gravely. He laughs, and she relents to his request. She pushes the stack away, leaning back into the chair. He gets up and comes back with a bottle of wine and some glasses.

"You don't even like red wine," she comments.

"Yeah, but you do."

"I love you," she says.

"Love you too."

For some mad reason, he finds the conversation to be permission to pick her up and throw her onto bed. The thing she never expected about motherhood was the decline in her sex life. People told her to kiss it goodbye, but she had laughed it off, as if it would never happen to the two of them. But now, she occasionally just lays there out of exhaustion as he rides her. She's apologized for it a couple of times, but he waved it off. He said it was kind of hot, in a necrophiliac fetish sort of way. So they've all made sacrifices. The difference is, she complains and he doesn't. So for that reason, she actually lets him make love to her tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

She can't sleep, despite the fact that her body is screaming at her to. She looks over and her husband is snoring lightly next to her. She slips out of bed and and tiptoes down the hall to purple room on the left.

She lets herself in and spends the next ten minutes staring at her beautiful baby girl, kneeling by the bed. Santana studies the long lashes that line her eyes, the delicate little fingers, the luscious pink bow lips that nobody knows who she got from. When did her daughter get so big? Where has all the time gone? Then suddenly, Santana realizes that one day, Kerry is going to be gone for good. There won't be anymore yelling, anymore running around the house. Nothing. It is the first time this thought has ever dawned on her, and it's fucking terrifying.

A loose brown tendril falls into her face, tickling her chubby cheeks. Santana carefully plucks the curl and tucks it behind her ear, careful not to wake up the sleeping beauty.

No luck.

Kerry stirs and yawns. "Mommy?" she asks, blinking.

"Yeah, it's me, baby. Go back to sleep," Santana whispers, kissing her on the forehead.

"Okay, mommy," she grumbles before mumbling something that's along the lines of "Aiwuboo."

Santana leaves the nursery, before giving it a last look. Everything looks the same, and it's as if she never intruded. The fort that Kerry and Puck built out of sofa cushions last weekend is still intact in one corner, the mural of the saints her own mother painted on the wall is still overlooking the bed, and the frog-shaped humidifier is still quietly humming by the bookshelf. And even though she wants to stay in here forever, to watch over her daughter forever and protect her, she closes the door quietly and crawls back into her own bed, where her sleeping husband is waiting for her.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

It's only at 4 in the morning, three hours later that she realizes what Kerry was trying to tell her.

_Aiwuboo_

"I love you too, Kerry."

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

She awakes the next morning refreshed, like a heavy weight has been lifted over her. She looks over at her husband, who has evidently been watching her sleep.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he says, giving her a kiss on the lips, "Last night was fun."

For a moment, she thinks he is referring to her secret midnight visit to Kerry, but as an afterthought, she remembers they had sex last night.

"Yeah. I've been thinking…." she starts, then trails off again. Is this really what she wants? Because when she says this, there will be no going back. She did only decide this this morning, after all.

"Yeah?"

"I want another baby," she affirms. Her husband looks at her like she's turned into a madwoman, searching her eyes for any trace of doubt or facetious humor. It is a long while before he says anything.

"Shit. Are you serious, Lo?" He only uses that nickname whenever he's being casual and wants to mitigate the gravity of a situation with remnants of high school.

"Yeah," she says quietly. She repeats it, louder this time.

Her husband? She can't really hear what he's saying because as of right now, he's already on top of her, ripping her clothes off.

This might not have been the life she envisioned for herself, or would wish on anyone else, but she loves her husband and loves her daughter like she's never loved anything before. A lot of days, she just wants to go back to her crazy sexaholic, noncommittal twenties self, when she didn't have to care about anyone but herself, but she knows that will never happen. But to be perfectly honest, she would do it all over again wholeheartedly.

So yeah, she's pretty serious.

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><p><strong>Thoughts? PLEASE REVIEW. Rate it even if you hate it!<strong>


	2. Month One

**Ahhhh, guys! I can't stay away. So I decided to make Baby Talk into a full length story because people really seemed to respond to it, and I wanted a big change from Calling All Angels. Here's the kickoff. Enjoy!  
><strong>

**7 AM:**

The alarm clock is blaring, and it's only 6:59 (Yeah, she likes to set their alarm to weird numbers. So what?). Santana really doesn't know why she makes herself get up so early, when really all she wakes up for is laundry, dishes, cleaning, and babyrearing. Ew. Particularly that last one.

Her husband, on the other hand, has real adult things to do. Like go to work and sit at a desk and do boring grown-up things, or so their lovely daughter proclaimed last night.

Needless, to say, she's jealous.

She rolls over on her side, and buries her head into her husband's bicep. He doesn't want to wake up either. She drapes one arm over his chest and rolls on top of him, with some quick maneuvering skills on her part. Kerry went to bed _late_ last night, so Santana knows she'll be out for another couple hours.

He groans. Whether or not it's because he has to go to work, or because she's, well, on top of him, is debatable. But he's not exactly the kind of guy who turns down these kind of offers.

"I'm ovulating," she whispers in his ear, and she can't believe this is what her dirty talk has been reduced to.

But, whatever, she'll take it. And so will he. Who needs work?

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

She loves baby-making sex. Not that all sex isn't baby-making sex, but still. It's different. It's not rough, but it's not gentle. Her husband fucks like he has something to prove, and it's kind of awesome. It's like he thinks that every thrust will make a difference as to whether or not they're going to end up with a little tadpole in her belly. Basically? It's some high-quality shit, and she's not complaining.

Speaking of complaining, "San," her husband whines, "I'm going to be late for work. I'm already late for work." The man just had mind-blowing sex, and he's still thinking about work? Wow, she married one mature fucker.

She's been lying on the bed, her legs straight up in the air (It's supposed to help the sperm reach the egg better, okay?). She slams her legs down on the bed, rolls on her side, and props her head up with her elbow.

"So call in sick. I'll do it for you." Well, he's already missed an hour; he might as well just skip the whole damn day.

"Spend the day at home with me. Build another god-damned fort with Kerry. And come back to bed at naptime." She pats the rumpled sheets for good measure.

He doesn't take very many sick days, because early on in their marriage, he called in sick very often. Well, Santana did it. He partially thinks she did it just so she could tell his secretary, "Mr. Puckerman will not be in today. _This is his wife calling_." She still does that sometimes. Call him at work for no reason at all, that is. Just to say, "This is his wife calling."

But of course, since he is the boring responsible one, he turns her down, because he "has work."

How she hates those words.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

She's at the grocery store. She's been relegated to shopping at the bulk, cheap grocery store ever since they had Kerry. She expects she'll be shopping at the Save-Mor-Mart until she's fifty. Forty at least.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Kerry whines from her seat in the cart. Santana sighs exasperatedly.

"Why didn't you eat at lunchtime?" Santana asks rhetorically; she knows she's not getting an answer. She rummages through her Kate Spade tote, looking for some Goldfish crackers or something.

She comes up empty-handed. "Uhm, do you want some Tic-Tacs?"

Kerry just stares.

An elderly man taps her on the shoulder and she turns around, "Lady, you know this is a grocery store, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

At four o'clock, the pangs of fear-laced curiosity kick in. She pulls the little rectangular box from the sack of groceries that have been left unloaded on the kitchen counter for hours. It is the whole reason she decided to go to the store anyway.

The box tells her that she will know if she's pregnant or not a whole week before her missed period. She does the calculations in her head. She could be pregnant right now! She could even be maybe 3 or 4 weeks along even, they have been trying for nearly a month now.

But does she really want to know? Santana surely doesn't feel pregnant. Which is why she should wait until she has a hunch, right?

Right. She will wait for her husband to come home. She will wait for when she really needs to pee. She will wait for a sign from God that she is already pregnant.

Most of all, she will wait because she really doesn't want to know if there is any chance of disappointment.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

When her husband comes home, he finds her sitting on the tartan couch, Kerry snuggled up against her side. Kerry and Santana are wearing the matching cheetah-print pajamas that his sister sent them last Hannukah from New York. Santana likes to brag that they're from Barneys, but all Puck thinks about when he hears that word is the purple dinosaur that used to be on television, before it got convicted of being a child molester or something.

"Is that even safe?" Puck questions, beckoning to Kerry's face, which is slathered with sea-weed green mush. Kerry is maybe the only two-year-old he knows that actually enjoys letting Mommy pamper her with girly time. Well, maybe enjoy is not the right word. More like tolerate. But he knows that makes Mommy proud.

Santana averts her eyes from the football game on the television (The fact that she's watching the game? Hot.) for a moment, and glares at her husband.

"Uhm, I'm wearing it, aren't I?" she says snarkily, pointing to her own green face.

"Yeah, well, you're not a toddler with sensitive skin. What if that stuff has collagen in it or some wrinkle-filling chemical?"

"Jesus Christ, Puck. How old do you think I am?" The real question is, "How bad of a parent do you think I am?" but of course, she doesn't say that one out loud.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

She's doing her after-dinner relaxation ritual, reading the new issue of Cosmopolitan on the couch while her feet lay in her husband's lap. Puck is being a complete slug on the other end, as he is watching the highlights of the football game that was on earlier.

Their daughter is doing something in the middle of the rug, entertaining herself one way or another.

As long as no one is dying, Santana's fine.

But then of course, there's a scream, and a thud, and undoubtedly, some tears.

Both parents look up. There is blood gushing from Kerry's forehead, and Santana can only deduce that she must have slipped on the folded corner of the rug and slammed her head on the tile underneath.

Everything is no longer fine.

Santana starts to get up, because she is always the one who deals with this kind of stuff, but Kerry is already making her way over to the couch, "Come to Mommy, Kerry."

And what happens next is almost as heartbreaking as watching your own child's blood dripping down her perfect porcelain forehead.

"Daddy," Kerry cries, reaching for her father, while her mother sits three feet away, dumbfounded.

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

Kerry is fine. Puck cleaned the cut in the nursery while Santana cried in her own bathroom, not that she would ever tell. She was already "asleep" when he came to bed. Now of course, she is lying awake as usual.

What if this baby, the one she may or may not be carrying right now, doesn't like her?

She wants to tell her husband this.

But instead, she snuggles closer to him and holds him tighter, as if the thoughts will communicate right through the skin, so she won't have to.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

Santana finally needs to pee, and she has the feeling that she won't be able to sleep until she does. So she slips out quietly into the bathroom and brings with her the box. She rips it open, tearing the instructions in the process, but she really doesn't give a fuck because she knows how to work a pregnancy test, thank you very much.

She gets herself settled, waiting for something to happen.

And then of course, she no longer needs to pee.

This is most frustrating.

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

The next time Santana tries, she's actually awake this time, and going about her morning routine. Simply said, her expectations are a little lower.

She is strangely calmer than she was the real last time she was doing this, three years ago, not three hours ago. She is not freaking out, worrying about the state of her relationship, career, or anything like that.

Instead, she is amused.

Because the thought occurs to Santana that this matter of almost life or death depends on this stupid little plastic stick dipped in urine, and whether or not this aforementioned stupid little stick will have one stupid little line or two.

It's ridiculous, really.

Until it's not.

Then she's screaming and hollering and she doesn't even care if she wakes up her sleeping baby.

Because now she's got two.

Almost.

**So? Think your ready for nine months of this? (Well nine months for Santana, not so much for my writing speed)...Review, please?**


	3. Month Two

**Thanks so much for all the feedback guys! It means so much. Enjoy.  
><strong>

**7 AM:**

Her beauty sleep is interrupted by a loud automatic voice.

"Hi! My name is Kiki! Let's learn!"

She groans and buries her face into her satin pillow (They don't leave marks on her skin). Her husband nudges her.

"A is for apple!"

Puck nudges her again.

"B is for baby!"

Santana finally realizes that all this high-pitched ruckus is caused by the stupid dog toy that's sitting on their bedroom floor somewhere. Kerry must have dragged it in here last night when she was taking a bath in their bedroom. It's a stupid toy really. As if Rachel Berry, the master baby gift-giver that she is, really thinks a singing dog will get Kerry to read. But because it is a stupid toy, it doesn't know when to stop.

He nudges her one last time, groaning into his own pillow.

"Okay, fine! I'll get it," she snaps. Naturally, he should be the one to get up because she is the one carrying his child. But no.

She gets up, picks up the stuffed dog by its ear, and in her slumber-laced haze, she swings it against the wall, where it slams into the wood with a thud, then slides to the ground silently.

Puck jolts awake and looks at her with a little bit of fear in his eyes. She smirks, because that finally gets his attention.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

By ten 'o clock, all signs of her morning frustration have dissipated, because she needs to be very inconspicuous today.

Today, she is on a secret mission.

It has been one she has been planning for weeks now, and she needs to get it done before she's too pregnant to carry out the whole thing. She has told nobody, except her priest, who frowns upon her lies and deception, but ultimately agrees with her intentions.

She grabs the diaper bag that doesn't really hold diapers anymore, fills it with snacks this time for bribery, and picks up her daughter, making a getaway for their car.

Today, she is getting her daughter baptized.

See, she and Puck have this half-assed-I-don't-give-a-fuck thing going about religion that's not really sacrilegious but nowhere near devout. Their family doesn't have a church or a synagogue, but Santana has a church and Puck has a synagogue. Kerry has nothing, except a mural of the saints on her wall and a pair of Star-of-David leggings.

"Mommy, where are we going?" Kerry asks.

"We're…going on an adventure. But it's secret," she answers carefully, even though Kerry probably doesn't even understand what she's saying, and clicks the car seat into place.

"What's secret?"

"It means you can't tell anybody about it. Not even Daddy. There's going to be magic."

That seems to soothe Kerry, as she is now more concerned about the neighbor's dog that has wandered into their yard. Santana shoos it away, because she is not about to clean up some other person's dogshit.

Santana thinks it might be a missed opportunity if Kerry doesn't get baptized, because what if one day, Kerry decides to be Christian? But by that time, she'll already be bathing in sin. So really, all she wants is for her baby to be as pure as she thinks she is, only in God's eyes too.

And besides, if she waits any longer, Kerry might spill the beans.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

The baptism was a success. Kerry didn't even squirm when the holy water was dripping all over. She was a natural. Even her priest, who has never ever ever liked Santana, said so. That was a little bit satisfying. Now that that's all settled though, Santana can go on living her normal life, with her normal peace of mind, because in reality, nothing has changed.

When she says that, she means that _nothing_ has changed.

Kerry is sitting in her high chair again, even though they've been trying to wean her off of it, but it just makes lunchtime so much easier. That is, when Kerry actually wants to eat. At least she's gotten over her one-color-a-day diet.

And Santana? She's covered in grime as usual. All she wants is one day without oatmeal or mashed bananas in her hair. One. Fucking. Day.

What Santana wants, Santana gets.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

There is not a single teenager in this town she trusts with her baby. Not a single one. She remembers being a teenager. She's not going to have any of that around Kerry.

She already called her husband at work. Her exact words were, "I'm going crazy. We're going out tonight. Start Yelp-ing restaurants because I'm not taking anything less than 4 stars. Wait, make it 4.5."

And so, she is last-minute lugging her child and her child's stylishly Pottery Barn Kids monogrammed overnight bag to their best friends' house.

She says "theirs" because Santana's found that when you gets married and has a child, all your friends end up being people who are also married with children. This way, they can dump their kids on other people when they want to go out, and vice-versa.

It's rather convenient.

And it's more convenient that her and Puck's number one coupley friends are Quinn and Finn. Yes, Santana will not leave her daughter with the seventeen year old that lives down the street, but with her once boyfriend-stealing, teenage mother, bitter rival frenemy. It's kind of strange how they've all slept with each other and taken each other's virginity and whatnot.

But that's all in the past.

Santana slams the knocker on the Hudson house, and Finn comes to the door. She's kind of jealous of the fact that Quinn's husband is home so early, but she supposes when you're your own boss, you can do whatever the fuck you want.

"Hey, Santana. Sorry, Quinn's tied up with something in the kitchen. Do you want to come in?"

"No, that's fine. Just tell her I'll call her tomorrow and thank her for those preschool recommendations. Thanks so much for taking Kerry so last minute." She shoves the baby bag in his face, and Finn moves it next to all the neatly-lined Baby Nikes in their foyer. He takes Kerry next.

"We get it. I'm sure you'll be doing the same soon. And we're still on for brunch next Sunday?"

Oh, god. Brunch. Quinn wants to introduce her to some moms in her playgroup. They call themselves Yummy Mummies. She needs to get this postponed. Preferably until never.

"Right. Brunch."

"Yeah, should be fun."

"Bullshit." Santana smirks, and waits for him to crack, because she knows he hates those things as much as she does. Finn laughs after a few seconds, and he's got that stupid dopey look on his face, even though it's definitely not high school anymore.

"Okay, say bye-bye to Mommy, Kerry. See you tomorrow," Santana says before things get uncomfortable, leaning forward to kiss Kerry.

"Bye, Mommy!" Kerry says, and like that, Santana has left her most prized possession with the people she used to hate the most. And she doesn't have a damn reservation about the whole thing.

It's times like these when Santana is really glad it's not high school anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

She spends the rest of the afternoon ridding their house of all things baby. Puck's called and said he'd be home a little later, which Santana knows is code for buying flowers and such. Puck is not a romantic guy (and Santana is not a romantic gal) but when he chooses to be, he does a pretty damn good job.

She tucks the high chair in the closet, picks up all the toys on the floor, and closes the door to Kerry's room. Basically, other than the family photos tacked on the walls, one would think this was just the house of Puck and Santana, two unattached lovers.

Tonight, maybe they can be just Puck and Santana again. Just this once. Because you see, Mama is going to get her kicks tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

She was right about the flowers. He bought her a bird of paradise, because he thinks roses are boring. She agrees. The restaurant is fine, there's dim lighting and nice ambience, but Santana doesn't really care right now, because she's really really hungry. Because she's pregnant or because its ten 'o clock? She doesn't know.

Their waiter comes by to take their orders. Santana wants something spicy, but she knows that might piss off their kid inside, so she settles for grilled salmon. Puck, because he is a gluttonous bastard, gets some sort of pasta.

"Alright, water for the lady, and anything to drink for you tonight, Sir?" the pretentious waiter asks Puck.

"Yeah, I'll have some scotch, on the rocks," he answers, but stops when he notices that she's glaring at him.

"He'll have water," she interrupts, giving her sweetest smile to the waiter, and Puck leans back in his chair and groans.

If she doesn't get to drink for the next seven months, neither can he.

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

She knows she's getting too old to go clubbing, but that doesn't mean she's any happier when her husband drags her home because "it's getting late." And she was just remembering how to salsa too.

But that doesn't stop her from initiating sex the moment they step through the door, because even if she can't party, drink, or have any fun, for the first time in a long time, she feels like herself again, and she's not about to let this moment slip away.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

She sleeps soundly that night, as she should, because after everything that happened today, she is _exhausted_.

And to think she has to get up tomorrow morning and do it all again.

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

Her beauty sleep is interrupted by a loud automatic voice.

"Hi! My name is Kiki! Let's learn!"

"A is for apple!"

"B is for baby!"

She groans. He groans.

Seriously?

Only people without kids buy things like this.

**So? Let me know what you think! xoxo.**


	4. Month Three

**Hellooooooo! Here's the next installment! Enjoy!  
><strong>

**7 AM:**

She's awake before him; what else is new? He turns on his side, ready to lazily drape his arm over her unsuspecting body, or so he thinks. But his arm comes in contact with a warm metal object, and when he actually opens his eyes, he sees that Santana is sitting up in bed with a laptop, her eyes idly drawn to the glow from the screen.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Waiting for an email."

She won't tell him what it's for, because she knows he's sick of hearing about it already. He'll just get pissy and tell her she's taking the whole damn thing too seriously. He shrugs.

"Can you please not put the laptop on your lap like that?" he asks nicely, because it's too early to pick a fight.

She looks over at him.

"Uhm, what?"

"It's bad for your ovaries. Radiation or something."

"So? I'm already pregnant," she states matter-of-factly, pressing the refresh key for good measure.

"Well, you know, what if one day we want to get pregnant again?" he casually mentions.

"Uhm, what?" she repeats.

Puck has nothing to say.

He thinks he's going to tell her what to do with her body? Oh hell to the no.

She slides the laptop off of her in a dramatic fit, flashes him an artificial smile, and leaves the room, her barking laugh echoing through the halls.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

She receives the letter in the mail, for God's sake. In the mail, as in brought to her door by a real live mailman. Who does that anymore? The letter is cream colored and embossed with an official seal, as if Kerry is going to college, not preschool.

Anyways, Kerry's in.

She feels like a good mother, for setting up her daughter for success so early in life. According to Sunshine Horizons' website, 100% of its graduates move on to the most prestigious elementary, middle, and high schools in the entire county.

Okay, and maybe there's a little bit of pride, because unlike Quinn, she didn't need to buy her kid's way in. Kerry's good enough.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

She waits to call her husband at work, when she knows his stupid secretary will be out to lunch (Santana secretly thinks the bitch puts her on hold for excessive amounts of time).

"What's up, babe?"

"We're in! Sunshine Horizons accepted Kerry!" she squeals.

He groans, but at least this means he's done with the "Private or public? Catholic or non-religious?" questions she's been shooting him ever since Quinn fucking Hudson brought up preschool. Finn's his best friend, but Quinn is batshit crazy. And she needs to stay away from his wife.

"Jesus Christ Puck, I am trying to take an active stance in our daughter's education. Would it kill you to be excited?" She puts her hands on his hips, her fists digging into where a muffin top would be, if she had one. She's standing akimbo, but stops immediately when she realizes how preposterous she looks in her kitchen, mad at nobody, but her toddler daughter, who is coloring on the floor.

"I am, Santana, but we can't afford Sunshine Horizons!" he mentions.

"Well, we'll manage. It's reasonable, really, for organic meals and small class sizes. You should have seen the rates for Cabbage Patch. Anyways, there's a parent soiree tonight at the school, so we're going to that. Do not work late. I repeat, do not work late, Puckerman."

"Okay, okay." He surrenders and wonders when he's going to get his wife back.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

She hears him step through the door at 4 in the afternoon, the earliest he's ever come home.

"Ooh, you're home early," Santana coos, leaning up to give him a kiss. He mumbles against her lips, "Where's Kerry?"

"At your mom's."

"Excellent," he replies, pulling her closer, eliciting a giggle from her.

And that's that.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

Santana's not going to lie. She hates these kind of things, these WASPy school functions that normal parents attend to. She realizes she will have to attend parent-teacher conferences and maybe chaperone a few fieldtrips, but she will draw the line at the PTA.

But she (and Puck, too) will mingle with the hot moms who talk about hot yoga like it's a fucking revelation, and the loaded dads who have jobs in "consulting," whatever the fuck that means. Good education is good education, and that's the kind of thing worth suffering for.

She's going to need a little help though. She nods while the class mom is talking about the possibility of carpooling, but keeps her mouth full enough of mini-quiches from the catering table to ensure that she doesn't have to talk back.

Plus, between his mohawk and her dirty mouth, it's kind of fun watching the other parents slowly realize that Santana and Noah Puckerman really, really don't belong.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

They come home hours later, and while he carries their sleeping daughter to bed, she undresses in their bedroom.

"God, that was awful," she mentions as he comes in. She takes off her pearls (the expensive cultured ones, not the freshwater ones). "Did you see that mom talking about making an allergy directory? Jesus Christ, these women are batshit crazy."

Speaking of batshit crazy…

"You were like that for a while," he comments.

"Yeah, I know," she acquiesces, because she was. But now that her daughter has gotten in to preschool, she doesn't care anymore. "It was worth it though."

She thinks of her own shitty public education, like swiss cheese—holes where there really shouldn't be holes. She still doesn't know what the point of the Spanish-American War was, or how many degrees there are in a pentagon. Santana knows it's only preschool now, but still.

Kerry is going to be somebody. She is going to go to a real college and get a real degree and know what the point of the Spanish-American War is. She is going to get the hell out of Lima, Ohio, because her parents didn't. If it takes having to deal with a few snobby private schools, then so be it.

Santana will make sure of this.

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

They're still awake. Too much coffee at that pretentious soiree.

"So have you given any thought to what I said this morning?" he says nonchalantly over the quiet chatter of late night television.

"What did you said this morning?" she yawns. She can't be held accountable for listening to everything her husband says. Really now.

"The laptop thing." He doesn't want to explain it in more words than he needs to.

"Oh, that. Not gonna happen. End of discussion," she says, flipping off Conan O'Brien, and turning the lights out on her side of the bed. And then they are submerged in darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

She thinks he might be disappointed or something, because she hears him tossing and turning all night long, which begs the question, why is she doing the same?

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

"Can we please talk about this, Santana? Instead of you just ignoring me whenever I bring it up?"

Well, good morning to you too.

"Just let me have this one thing, okay? Let me win this one."

"No! I'm not going to let you win anything, Santana. Life doesn't work that way," he declares, his voice a little louder than she would like.

There's nothing like starting off a morning with a screaming match with your live-in partner.

"You know what, Puck? Motherhood? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, so what makes you think I can handle a third kid, much less, the one that's coming in six months? You were the one who kept pushing me for it and you're the one who leaves everyday for ten hours! I didn't sign up for this!" She stops herself before she can say she never wanted this, because she feels the sentiment coming on, whether it is true or not.

When her tirade is finished, she is breathing heavily, and her chest is heaving. He pulls her closer silently and she is ensconced in his arms, so that he can almost feel the almost baby bump sprouting from her abdomen between them. He rubs her back up and down, the bend of her bra strap striking his palm each way down.

"I'm sorry. I didn't meant to make you upset."

She shakes her head. She pulls away and looks at him.

"Can we just…can we just get through this?"

She hates the way she makes motherhood sound like a chore, but most days, it is. Can he really blame her, when he has no idea?

**So? What did you think? Leave me a review!**


	5. Month Four

**Here we goooo!**

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

She's parading around the bedroom in stilettos.

His attention is all hers.

For the wrong reason.

"Santana, why do you have to wear those? You're going to hurt yourself." He knows better than to add, "And the baby."

She turns around.

"Nobody takes these heels away from me, Noah Puckerman," she declares.

Besides, they're at the second trimester now. The chance of miscarriage is significantly lower. Not that she was worried about it or anything.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

No matter how old she is (or how pregnant), Santana is pretty sure her mother will always say she is too skinny.

"Santana, eat a turkey sandwich or something, for Christ's sake. You look like a starved cat," her mother says when she opens her front door.

Well, here's the thing. She can't eat a fucking turkey sandwich, because sliced deli meat is a harbor for prenatal-prone germs and viruses. And as if her mom can talk. Santana can see her mother's bony frame just drowning in the painter's smock she's wearing, but a slim figure is something Lopez women have always had in common. Santana will wait and see with Kerry. God forbid she ends up hippy like the women on Puck's side.

"Hey, Mama." Virginia Lopez leans in and gives her, then Kerry, a kiss.

"Jesus. I think this hoarding thing is becoming an issue," Santana says, as she steps over a basket of recycled water bottles, dodging a dangerously tall stack of old _National Geographics_.

"This is art, Santana."

Santana rolls her eyes.

"So what's up, buttercup?" her mother says, gesturing to the patchwork sofa. Santana remembers helping her mother reupholster it one summer when she was seventeen. She also remembers helping her move it into this new apartment when she was twenty-seven. That was less fun.

"Well, Mama, I think you need to break out your paintbrushes, because I'm going to be needing a new nursery soon."

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

When she comes home, she's glad Quinn is here for their weekly bitch sessions.

"So what's up with you?" Quinn asks, taking a sip of her weird green health shake (Santana knows she should feel a little offended that Quinn needs to bring her own beverage when she's visiting, but they've known each other so long, it doesn't matter).

"Here, I have something for you," Santana says. She wasn't planning on telling Quinn, but she might as well, before Quinn starts judging her for gaining a few pounds.

Quinn gives her an inquisitive look, and looks even more puzzled when Santana plops the box in front of her.

"You're giving me an opened box of tampons?"

"Yup. I won't be needing them for a while."

Silence.

"What did he do, drug you or something?" Quinn leans her head against the back of the chair.

"Most people say 'Congratulations,' you cow," Santana laughs.

"I cannot believe you sold out. Now Finn is going to be like, 'Look! Santana and Puck are having another baby! We should have one too!' and this body cannot handle a fourth pregnancy," Quinn rants.

"I'm just evening out the playing field. Anything else you want to share, Q?"

"Yes. Santana Lopez, you are the most selfish human being I have ever met."

But really, what else is new?

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

The smell of her neighbor mowing his lawn utterly disgusts her. The fact that the sounds of her retching wakes her daughter up is sad, but true.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Kerry asks, plopping into the bathroom, carrying the ratty blanket she sleeps with.

"I'm fine, baby. I'm sorry I woke you." Santana flushes the toilet, and begins to brush her teeth. When she finishes, she realizes that Kerry has been just standing there very patiently and quietly, which worries her.

"Why are you standing there all quiet?" Santana demands.

"Mommy, you look like an angel."

She can't help but burst into laughter, because Santana Lopez has never been an angel.

"What?"

"You're all shiny."

When she looks into the mirror from the corner of her eye, she feels a little stupid, because a two-year-old noticed that she had that urban-myth pregnancy glow before she did herself.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

She hates her mother-in-law.

There. She said it.

But she loves her husband, so she must come to these things. He goes to her mom's weird installation art piece gallery openings, so it evens out.

"No wine for you tonight, Santana?" The sanctimonious glare that Rebecca Puckerman gives her is a little more than accusatory. "It's Shabbat."

"No, none for me. Thanks though." She wipes her mouth again with the napkin sitting in her lap to get out of anymore forced conversation. She kicks him under the table.

"Actually, Ma. We have something to tell you."

"Oh?"

"Ma, we're pregnant." Puck is beaming like he won the fucking lottery or something, and she is fairly certain that Rebecca might stroke out any moment now from excitement. Kerry is oblivious in her seat, and continues playing with Santana's napkin ring.

"Oh, Noah," she sighs, all her enthusiasm deflating in an ecstatic cry, "I am just so overjoyed I could cry."

Santana really wishes she wouldn't.

"This one was planned too," Santana adds dryly, raising her empty glass.

Yup. There it is again. Rebecca is looking at her like she stubbed a cigarette butt in between Lassie's eyes. Of course.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

She is splashing rose water on her face over the bathroom sink, while Kerry splashes in the tub a few feet away.

"Puck, I wish you wouldn't let her do that, because I'm the one who ends up mopping up all the water on the floor."

"Jesus, Santana. Let her have some fun."

Santana can sense this is the beginnings of a fight. The seeds have been planted, but she chooses not to nurture it. So she walks out of the room, hoping the situation will fizzle.

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

A strange feeling is keeping her awake. Santana is under the impression that she has forgotten something very very important, and she can't seem to quite remember what. It's on the tip of her tongue, she knows. She shuts her eyes tightly until she sees stars, and waits for the epiphany.

Here it comes.

She bolts out of bed faster than she probably should and makes a beeline for the bathroom. Santana is certain that Puck must be on her tails, as he has been watching her like a hawk lately, but she doesn't give a shit.

When she gets to the bathroom, she slams open the medicine cabinet in the blinding light, and grabs the tube from the shelf.

No stretch marks for this mommy-to-be.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

This whole insomnia thing is kind of a bitch. Actually, a more accurate diagnosis would be this whole pregnancy thing is kind of a bitch.

So she decides to roam the internet until the current state of the world depresses her into slumber. She has a new email though.

The sender is Rebecca Puckerman, the send time is 10:42 PM, and the subject line is "baby names."

Eager beaver much?

She scrolls through the first half of the email: it's a list of boy names, but everyone knows those are no fun. Surprisingly, Rebecca has only included three choices if the baby is a girl.

"Leah."

Wasn't that the one Jacob _didn't_ want?

"Delilah."

Santana has serious issues with any woman who cuts her man's hair.

And finally…"Beulah."

No. Just no.

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

"Hey, I have something to tell you."

They are lying in bed awake, the both of them staring at the ceiling. Neither of them want to go about their days.

"Who'd you knock up this time?"

She snickers at her own cleverness, but he doesn't find it quite as charming.

"They're sending me to Houston for a few weeks next month."

"What?" She immediately rolls over and props herself up on her elbows so she can look down on him.

"Yeah, I'm setting up a new center down there."

"A few fucking weeks? Like, basically, a month?"

"I don't know yet."

"What am I going to do without you? You're just going to leave me?"

And no, she is not concerned about the sentimentality of her statement, because that is certainly not her intention.

What she means is, "You're just going to leave me with our child?"

"Come on, Santana. You can handle it. I know you can, baby." So obviously he gets what she's trying to say. "And did I mention there's $10,000 involved?"

She supposes that's alright.

**Drop me a line? Also, off topic kind of, but do you think I should leave little book club questions for Baby Talk like I did with Calling All Angels? I'd love to hear your opinion (on anything at all!)  
><strong>


	6. Month Five

**Okay guys, sorry for the wait. Spring of junior year is craaaazy.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

It comes as a surprise to everybody—including herself—that Santana Lopez is actually up before 7 AM. She's been in the kitchen for an hour, preparing her daughter's first-ever school lunch. She carefully cut the crusts off the peanut butter and jelly sandwich the way Kerry likes (Screw those peanut-allergy kids), and placed it in her tin Hello Kitty lunchbox.

Now she's cutting the apple slices into little rabbits, because that's the kind of thing two year olds can get away with eating.

Her husband sneaks up behind her. "You're up early," he whispers in her ear, trying to cop a feel with the other hand. She squirms.

"Well, it's our daughter's first day of preschool. It's a momentous occasion, jackass."

"She'll be fine. She's great at making friends."

"Really? Which one of us do you think she got that trait from?"

Puck senses that maybe this morning, he might have to take a different approach with her. He really doesn't want to leave for Texas tomorrow morning on a sour note.

"Okay, lovely darling wife of mine. What would you like me to do?" She snickers and rolls her eyes, but turns around to face him regardless.

"Can you take her to school today?"

"What? You've been looking forward to this for the last three months!"

"I…I just don't want to, okay? Just drop her off on your way to work."

"Okay, fine. But I bet you she wants you to do it."

"It doesn't matter which one of us does it."

It's just that is seems like everybody is leaving her, and part of her doesn't want to be around for that.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

It's quiet. There is no screaming, no "Mommy, look at me!" no crying. In fact, for the first time in weeks, she has free time. _Free time_.

So why can't she decide what to do with it?

She tries watching some trashy television because that usually cheers her up, but they were only playing reruns on TV. She considers calling Quinn for drinks, but realizes that usually ends in an all-day bitch session, and she's got a doctor's appointment in a few hours (They find out the sex today). She vaguely considers baking cookies, but that's when she knows she's too far gone.

Santana thinks, that maybe, kinda sorta, she misses her daughter. And maybe, kinda sorta, she let Kerry down when she didn't bring her favorite child to a monumental first day of school.

Yeah, she better get on those forgiveness cookies.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

It's a girl.

Phooey.

Not that she's not excited about having another daughter to doll up, but she was really, really looking forward to this pair of blue sapphire earrings she's had her eye on for months. Puck buys her fancy jewelry after each pregnancy for, you know, carrying his spawn. When Kerry was born, she got a pink sapphire sparkler for her finger.

But honestly, the blue would have brought out her eyes _so_ nicely.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

She goes to pick up Kerry from preschool, because she dropped the ball with the drop-off. No pun intended.

She's waiting in the lobby—atrium, according to the bombastic plaque—with the other mommies/nannies/mannies. These are the types of women Quinn hangs out with, the "yummy mummy" type. They probably do play group, and bake real cookies, instead of attempting to, failing, and reheating ones she bought at Save-Mor-Mart. But there are cracks in this bastion of modern republican motherhood. She can tell the "career moms" are off on one side, in their three-piece but tailored suits. The nonconventional (i.e. weird) moms are sitting on the ground cross-legged, probably discussing vegan food options and mommy-and-me meditation. And of course, the Alpha moms, the ones that read parenting books but still find time to look hot stand right by the door—in case they miss their children. These moms are combinations of all the other groups.

Santana realizes preschool is just like high school, pick-up cliques and all.

Except Santana was popular in high school. She's not here. She's failed to help her daughter meet new friends, because of her own disdain for their mothers. So for Kerry's sake, she will make an attempt to do some networking.

But she doesn't have to, really, because an Alpha mom comes up to her.

"Are you Quinn Fabray-Hudson's friend? Savannah, right? I think I recognize you from a picture."

"Santana. Santana Lopez," Santana replies coolly.

"Right. Hi, I'm Jane Horrigan, Olive's mom. I'm the class mom. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Santana forces a smile and a handshake. Jane has a wimpy handshake. This indicates to Santana that Jane Horrigan has never ever been a tactical woman.

"So how do you know Quinn? Quinn and I are so close. I'm surprised we haven't met before."

"Quinn and I have been friends since high school." And she had my husband's first child. And I took her husband's virginity. Naturally, Santana resists these little add-ons.

"Oh, how cute. You know, here come the kids. Let me give you my card. We should have playdates."

"Sure," Santana musters, while Jane digs around her Hermes tote. When Santana looks at the business card, she sees that Jane's profession is "Mother of Olive, Kiefer, and Eden."

Dear God.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

"So Kerry, how was school?" Santana asks. She's sitting in the back seat of the car with Kerry, a rarity, because the backseat makes her sick. Not that it matters, all nausea is the same to her now.

"I missed you, Mommy," Kerry blips.

"I miss you too, Kerry." Santana brings her forehead to her daughter's and gives her a kiss on the nose. She can see Puck's smirk in the rearview mirror, but she chooses not to call him out on it.

Besides, after Shabbat (which has become bi-weekly now that she has leverage to guilt trip him with, namely a human being growing in her uterus), she will have plenty of things to say to him—most of which will most likely not be nice.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

"So another girl, huh?" Puck says, nudging her. They're sidled up together on the couch, incubated under a blanket. "You excited?"

She already knows he is.

His hand creeps down to her abdomen, settling above where a tiny baby bump is developing. She looks up at him, and says "Of course I am."

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

At one in the morning, she receives a phone call.

God, that sounds like the beginning line to some tragic television drama.

She answers groggily, and wishes all sorts of evil things on the caller, because her husband is trying to get some sleep before his trip. Then she finds out the caller is Brittany, and all enmity temporarily dissipates.

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me you were having another baby? I'm so excited!" Brittany squeals.

"I did Brittany, I left a message on your machine. But do you know what time it is?"

It might be dawn in London or Sydney or wherever Brittany's touring this week, but in Lima, Ohio, it is still the middle of the night.

"Sorry, sorry! Should I call back later?"

"Yeah, do that. Sorry, but Puck is really tired."

"Okay, talk to you later Santana."

"Bye." She hangs up the phone, and feels like there must be some character development here that she's ignoring. Choosing her husband over her best friend/first love, or something like that.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

She suddenly wakes up and when she rolls over, her husband is not there. Repeat: her husband is not there. She looks at the alarm clock, scared that he left already, but his plane isn't until seven.

The she hears the sound of the toilet flushing, and that eases her a little bit. Her hand grazes her chest, on the way to scratching her ear, and she realizes her heart is beating very very fast.

What is happening to her?

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

"Do you have to go?" Santana whines.

Puck chuckles. "You sound like Kerry."

Santana stays silent, because there's really no comeback for that. He's leaving his pregnant wife and his toddler daughter indefinitely, and there's really nothing else to say about it.

"Wait, are you crying?" he asks suddenly. Not only are there drops of silver emotion filling up her eyelids, but they are standing in an airport, a public place.

"Shut up," she snips, wiping her eyes regardless, "I'm pregnant."

Yeah, okay.

**Book club questions to think about (and answer in the review if you'd like, I LOVE READING THEM!):**

**1) Which mommy clique would Santana be in? Make up your own if you'd like.  
><strong>

**2) "What is happening to her?" Well, what do you think?  
><strong>

**Review please!  
><strong>


	7. Month Six

**7 AM:**

The problem with sleeping in the same bed as a toddler is the fact that everything smells like kid sweat. But what can she do, when her husband is gone, and there is no one else around?

Kerry's been a big fan of sleeping in the "big bed" though, even though her dad has been gone for two weeks now.

"Come on, Kerry. Wake up, baby. We have to go to school." Santana drags herself out of the bed, and picks up her child, which she really really shouldn't be doing right now, for the sake of her other child, the one in her belly.

"I don't want to." Santana doesn't know if she should be proud of her daughter's indignant tone.

"But it's Olive's birthday today, remember? We have to go to school, and wish her happy birthday. She's going to bring cupcakes; her mommy told me."

"I don't like Olive," Kerry snips. Santana smiles.

Like mother, like daughter?

* * *

><p><strong>11 AM:<strong>

At eleven o' clock, her phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mrs. Puckerman?"

"This is Santana Lopez."

Big difference.

"Right. This is Principal Morrow at Sunshine Horizons. Are you Kerry Puckerman's mother?"

Oh, shit.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"Kerry seems to have gotten into an altercation with another pupil. Could you please come in as soon as possible? We need to have a conference."

"What? No, you must be mistaken. My daughter would not do that."

"I am most certainly not mistaken, Mrs. Puckerman."

"This is preschool. What could she have possibly done that was so bad?"

"She assaulted another pupil."

"Assaulted? With what!"

"Well…a cupcake."

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

At one o'clock, she calls her husband.

"What have you been up to?" she asks.

"Training dipshits that have no idea how to run a basic computer program," he says, and she can hear a mixture of frustration and longing in his voice. She's sure her voice reflects the same.

"Not everyone has the same enterprising spirit as you do, my dear," she adds sarcastically, because she finds it a little bit comical that a high school graduate is teaching people who actually went to college how to set up a new customer service center.

Kerry gurgles or something like that. Santana is not the kind of mother than can decipher random baby noises.

"Whatever. Is that Kerry in the background?"

"No, that's the secret love child I had with Finn when you were gone," she deadpans, "Of course it's Kerry."

"Very funny. What is she doing home so early?

Silence.

"Santana…" By now, he knows all her silences.

"I may or may not have pulled her out of school. Like, forever."

"What! Out of Sunshine Horizons? What happened?"

"She smashed a cupcake in Olive's face. You know, Jane's daughter? Quinn's friend? Anyways, yeah. She got called into the principal's office, and I went too. And then that awful principal woman was being very very rude and poor Kerry here was just terrified. And I was all, this is ridiculous. I am not paying a thousand dollars a month for this bullshit!" She is all riled up now.

"Jesus, what else did you do?"

"Why do you always assume it's what I did?" she asks, "Never mind. Anyways, so I'm super pissed off, and this woman is just being a total frigid bitch. And I tell her that Jane and I are actually 'friends' and Olive surely didn't mind."

"Well, did she? It's not like you and Jane are actually friends."

"Olive was upset, of course, but she's two. Doesn't even matter. I offered to pay for her ruined Baby J. Crew outfit and all. I apologized to Jane, who was totally fine with it. I mean, she wasn't of course, but she wouldn't show it in the prestigious Sunshine Horizons Academy!" More sarcasm here.

"And then…"

"Principal wouldn't budge. Nope. She said it was a disciplinary thing, and she said she would have to suspend Kerry. And then I snapped."

"Right. Sounds like you have everything under controlled, babe."

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

"Kerry, do you want to go over to Auntie Quinn's to play with the boys?" Santana crouches to the ground to get on eye level with her daughter, but remembers not to sit down. If she does, she might be there for days.

"No." It's an angry kind of "No," said while Kerry's attention is on the Legos on the ground. Usually Kerry isn't allowed to play with Legos because they're a huge mess and they hurt like a bitch when Santana steps on them, but she figured she would give Kerry a break. The kid's father is gone, for Christ's sake.

"Why not? You love Auntie Quinn's. They have dinosaur chicken nuggets! And cable TV!" Santana says enthusiastically, "And a massage chair for Mommy's back!"

"What if Daddy comes back, and we're not here?" Kerry asks.

"Oh, Kerry. I know you miss him. I miss him too. But Daddy's not coming back today. He's coming back in thirteen days. Mommy's been counting. And when he comes back, we can go out for ice cream and cookies and cake. Does that sound good?" Santana strokes her daughter's arm.

"Yeah."

7 PM:

Santana doesn't appreciate being treated like a charity case, but if Quinn's making dinner, then sure, she and Kerry will stay for dinner.

"So Santana, when's Puck coming back again?"

"Two weeks."

"Ah. Well, you know you're welcome at our table anytime. You can stay over even. We can do group baths with the kids, and everything will be really easy. I wouldn't want you on your feet too much," Quinn says.

"Thanks Q, but I'm fine, really."

"Santana, you are going through a very difficult time right now. You are pregnant, you're raising a child, and your husband is away. There is no shame in asking for help."

"Quinn. I'm fine. Drop it. The only reason I'm staying for dinner is because I'm sick of eating kid food and you made lamb," Santana says pointedly.

"Good enough reason for me," Finn guffaws, trying to lighten the mood.

It doesn't really work.

"Anyways, Santana. I was thinking after Puck gets back, he and I could go on a fishing trip," Finn says.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Quinn quips.

"Finn. My husband has been gone for two weeks, and he's not going to be back for two more. And like your dear wife mentioned, I am six months pregnant. When he gets back, he's got a hell of a lot of sucking up to do, and none of that includes going to some grimy-ass fishing cabin in Canada with his doofus best friend."

Even Quinn has to snicker at that one.

"But I'm his best friend. He likes me."

"Yeah? Are you having sex with him?"

"No…"

"Then he likes me more."

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

They end up getting home pretty late, because Quinn made her apologize to Finn for her comments, and Finn made her apologize to Quinn for her other comments. Whatever.

Look, Santana gets that she's not really in an ideal situation right now, but offering help just makes it seem like she needs help, which would mean the situation is worse than she thinks it is. So she's fine, thank you very much.

"Come on, Kerry. Get up." She pulls open the car door and helps Kerry down from her car seat. She holds Kerry's little hand in the darkness, and carries about fifty different things in her other arm: diaper bag, snacks, school uniform, etc. She wishes she could balance things on her swollen tummy, but having a few extra limbs would work too.

But of course, it is ten 'o clock at night and it is very dark, and Santana bumps her shoe on the crack in her driveway and everything comes tumbling to the ground, lost to the night.

Including her composure.

She plants herself on the cold asphalt for the first time since the day her husband left, Santana cries.

"Mommy, are you okay?"

Santana sniffles. "Yeah, Kerry. I'm fine. Mommy is just a little lost, okay?"

"What did you lose?"

"Nothing, baby." Santana wipes her tears from her cheeks, so when they go inside, her daughter won't see them streaking across her face.

"Well, Mommy, if you can't tell me what you lost, I can't help you find it." Santana can't see her daughter right now, but she knows Kerry has her little fists balled up on her hips.

"You're doing just fine, Kerry."

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

Santana can't sleep. Shocker.

But Santana's always been the kind of girl who gets her best ideas in the middle of the night.

She nudges her daughter. "Kerry, wake up. Wake up. We're going on a fieldtrip."

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

They drive and drive and drive, only making stops for bathroom breaks and coffee to keep her awake. Sooner or later, they'll reach their destination. They're on a mission.

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

"Mommy, where are we?" Kerry asks, awakening from her slumber.

Santana is sitting on the hood of their car, carrying Kerry in her arms, the two of them wrapped in a giant quilt Nana Connie made.

Santana doesn't say anything, just points out towards the horizon, the headlights of their car guiding her fingertips. Kerry peeks out. "Wow, Mommy! We're so high up! I can't see anything. Where are all the buildings?"

"There aren't any, Kerry. We're on a cliff."

"How come it's so dark?"

"Because the sun hasn't come up yet."

"When will it come up?"

"Any minute. Keep your eyes wide open, baby girl."

Then it happens. The horizon explodes, like the sky just opened up a giant crack and all the light slipped on through.

"See that sunrise, Kerry? That's the exact same sunrise Daddy is seeing right now."

* * *

><p><strong>How was that, guys? Please review and let me know what you think.<strong>

**Here are my thoughts for you. Santana tells her daughter, "Keep your eyes wide open." How can this be related to her outlook on life in general? And what about you, dear reader, how do you use this in your life?**

**xoxoemily**


	8. Month Seven

**7 AM:**

Today, Santana doesn't mind that she is up way too early, and she is doing way too much humdrum domestic wife work, because her husband is back. Now that Puck is back, he is going to take some of the burden. Which is why she's making him take Kerry to work with him, so she can have a girls' day with Quinn. She guilt tripped him into it last night. Let's face it. As long as she's got a vagina, she's got all the power in this relationship.

"You ready to take Kerry to work today? Just let her play with the shredder or something. And don't forget to clean up before you go. I'm heading out soon."

He chuckles as he shaves his two-day-old beard off.

"If only you didn't get her kicked out of preschool."

"Fuck school."

It's a sentiment they both shared, and still kind of do, so the conversation ends there.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

"Where's your liquor?" she demands when Quinn lets her in.

"You're pregnant."

Clearly.

"Well, give me something else so I can make this day even more enjoyable. I have the whole day to myself."

"Lucky you," Quinn points out, closing the door.

Well, except for the little monster holding her body hostage from the inside.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

The scene is far too disturbing. But Santana cannot tear her eyes away.

"Jesus Christ, Quinn. That's disgusting. He's like, latching on to your nipples like there's no tomorrow. Speaking of, why do your boobs look bigger than mine? And mine are so big right now." They've been sitting at Quinn's kitchen table for far too long, gossiping and chatting.

"Well, that's breastfeeding for you Santana. In case you've forgotten how to be a mother."

Quinn Fabray's got her there.

"Breastfeeding is fine, Q. But breastfeeding your two year old child is definitely not fine. Little Duncan here probably gets more action than Finn."

"That's the idea."

"What?"

"If I'm breastfeeding still, Finn can't ask for another baby. What's he going to do? Let Duncan starve while I'm carrying another baby?"

The whole scheme is sick, sad, and possibly scientifically-flawed but Santana has to admit she's a little impressed.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM <strong>

When she comes home, a mani pedi and a full tub of Rocky Road ice cream later, something is amiss. Maybe it's because this has been the longest she's been away from her housewifely duties in a while, but when she looks at her home, her nest, she knows something must be wrong. This can't be her life.

There's toys scattered everywhere. The dishes aren't washed. A big box of nursery items is sitting in the foyer, freshly delivered today, still clad in bubble wrap.

And the sad part is, her house looks exactly the same as it did this morning, and the morning before that, and the morning before that.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

She's relaxing while Puck is bathing Kerry. They've been in the bathroom for quite a while, so she goes up to check on them. The water bill has been getting kind of high, so she doesn't want to push it.

When she cracks the door open, she sees that Kerry is drawing all over the bathtub walls with those bathtime crayons Kurt bought her last year ("to unleash the inner artist"). What he failed to realize at the time was that while they wash off the walls, they don't exactly wash off skin.

"Kerry, what are you doing with those ridiculous crayons? Puck, did you let her have them?"

"Calm down, Santana. They're bathtime crayons. Meant for bathtime."

"Yes, meant for children who can handle bathtime in a civilized manner and not get crayon all over themselves. Sound like our child?" She doesn't stop to let him answer, "No."

"Well, it calms her down and makes everything easier."

"Yeah, easier for now. Not in the long run."

The conversation is turning into an argument. She steps outside into the hallway. The steamy air in the bathroom is making her feel overheated. He interprets it as a call to action, and follows her.

"Christ, Santana. Am I not allowed to raise my child the way I want for a change?"

"Raise your child? It's fucking bathtime."

"No, it's not. It's you judging me for the way I do everything. It has to be your way, always. No bath crayons. Only put the carseat on the left side. No eggs in the morning. The list goes on and on and only gets longer everyday."

"Yeah, if you were around more, maybe you'd know that those bath crayons are a nightmare to clean. That the right side's seatbelt doesn't click sometimes. That eggs in the morning make her sick."

"Don't turn this into me going to work. You know I wish I could be here for that and you cannot hold that against me."

"Well, maybe I want to work too. Maybe I don't want to be stuck here in this stupid house with these stupid toys everywhere with a list of endless things to do. I don't want to be here! I came home today and the place was a fucking mess!" She's full-on screaming now, and he's almost up there.

"How do you think I feel when I come home?"

"I am sorry that I can't be the perfect wife. That I can't raise your kid and keep the house nice and keep our daughter in school. That I can't pretend be perky and happy!"

"Nobody says you have to be perky and happy!"

"You make it so clear. You get to do all the fun stuff. Daddy has the bathtime crayons. He gets the cool fieldtrips to the office with the fancy machines, while Mommy just stays at home and vacuums and goes grocery shopping and tells Kerry that she can't do this! Or that! How can I compete with you when you undermine everything I do?"

Then a hiccup.

They both turn around. Kerry, naked and shivering, is standing in the hallway with them, dripping foamy shampoo from her curly locks into the carpet. There's a happy face drawn on her stomach with the yellow crayon. The look on her face is far away.

"Oh, baby," Santana says as Puck leans his forehead against the wall. They'd both sworn, before they became parents, that they would never do this to their child. "Mommy and Daddy are so sorry you had to see that. We're so sorry, Kerry. Let's get you cleaned up, okay? I like the smiley face on your stomach. Did you do that yourself?" She's rambling now because there's not much she can say to mitigate the situation. "Come on, Daddy will come in in just a second." She shoots him a glare, and he cannot meet her gaze.

But before they can get cleaned up, Kerry becomes hysterical.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

She's sitting in bed, an ice pack on her forehead.

"How is she?" she asks when he comes in.

"She's okay now. Stopped crying. But she wouldn't let me wash off the smiley face. You were right. Those things are a nightmare to clean." He shakes his head, and rubs his eyes.

She chuckles, but doesn't find the humor in the situation. She appreciates the victory, even if it's a surrender on his part and those don't really count.

"What have we done now?"

"Which part: creating a little monster or getting into a screaming match in front of her?"

Not funny.

"Did you see the look on her face? She was scared shitless. Scared of her own parents. Scared of the two people who love her most."

He comes up to her, and momentarily forgetting their argument, says, "It's always the people that love you most that scare you shitless."

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM: <strong>

She can't stop thinking about it. About her daughter, her husband, her ersatz career. All of it. She does this often: wake up in bed, wondering, "Is this all?"

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM: <strong>

When she gets up to pee, she passes by the computer, which has been recently used. Weird. She stops to look at the screen, and she sees an online receipt from Lord and Taylor. Somebody has ordered a very shiny necklace...in the last few hours. She keeps this secret to herself, and decides she'll take the "Bad Cop" rap for just one more day. Especially when she sees the price tag.

Screw the water bill.

* * *

><p><strong> 7 AM:<strong>

She wakes up to pee (again). Puck is in their bathroom, so she goes to Kerry's. It's spotless. The walls are devoid of crayon. The bottles are lined up by size. There isn't any hair on the floor.

She stops by their bathroom on the way back. She wraps her arms around her husband from the back. She can't clasp her hands around his waist, because she is so pregnant, but it's the thought that counts.

"I'm sorry." The words are muffled into his back, and she thinks this way, she won't have to make eye contact. "I just...I'm just afraid Kerry will always like you better."

He turns around. The first words he will say to her today? "Do you know what Kerry said to me all day yesterday? It wasn't about the vending machine, or the cool printer full of colored paper. It was 'I miss Mommy,' every hour. So don't sell yourself short.


	9. Month Eight

**7 AM:**

Santana is doing that terribly unhealthy thing again, texting in bed. She knows it's an awful habit because it makes her look really lazy and really trashy, but sitting up is much too much effort nowadays. Besides, if she gets up, her husband will make her help with Kerry's birthday party set-up.

Plus, it's more fun to swap celebrity baby gossip with Quinn. Apparently Beyonce and Jay-Z are going to have another superbaby.

Eh, Blue Ivy Jr. won't have anything on Baby Girl Lopez Puckerman.

* * *

><p><strong>10 AM:<strong>

Santana hates kid food. She's pretty sure she's mentioned this to her husband before, because she really hates kid food. Mac and cheese? The color itself is enough to dissuade her from eating that poison. Pigs in a blanket? That'd be okay if the pigs weren't made up of every single animal body part, chalk, and glass, all blended together in a sausage casing. Don't get her started on Capri Sun. How do the Capri Sun people expect kids to get the straw in the pouch if a grown woman like her can't even do it?

Jesus. She feels like one of those organic-hippie-weird moms that makes their own baby food. Okay, so she's not that far gone yet.

* * *

><p><strong>1 PM:<strong>

So Bozo the Clown they hired turned out to be a total creeper. Santana's pretty sure he was staring at her boobs the whole time. Santana's also pretty sure Puck noticed.

Well, that's probably why Bozo has a black-eye.

Between laughs, Quinn tells her it's the best birthday party yet. Santana can't help but agree.

* * *

><p><strong>4 PM:<strong>

They survived. Above the screaming children, the food that's been slung on her walls, and the ugly outfits she'll definitely return (Thank you, gift receipts), her baby is three years old. Her first baby. Her Kerry!

All she wants is a decent picture to commemorate this occasion. But God doesn't love Santana that much. Everyone's gathered around the table. Kurt's annoying dog (Who brings a dog to a kiddie party, anyway?) keeps jumping and clawing the air, and Santana will be pissed if he pops one of the balloons and wakes the five young guests napping on the couch. Quinn and Finn's grubby oldest kid keeps trying to sneak bits of the cake ("Alex! Stop that right this instant!"). Her lovely mother-in-law keeps trying to rearrange the lamps in the room ("The lighting will be so much better, dear"), because that's totally something to do in the middle of this madness. On top of that, there's several children screaming and/or yelling. Santana feels faint, but she thinks it must be the excessive body heat in the room.

But most importantly, Kerry doesn't even look slightly amused.

Nobody seems to realize that this is Kerry's last special day. In a month or so, Kerry's never going to be the only apple of anybody's eye ever again. In a month or so, Kerry is going to have to share everything: parents, attention, affection. Santana just wants to make her little girl like the only little girl in the whole world, just for this day. Just this last thing.

"God damn it! Shut up! Just shut up! I've been catering to you people all day and you can't even leave my family alone for five seconds so we can take a goddamned picture! Look at my daughter! Does she look happy? She's supposed to be a princess today! Can we not just take a stinking picture? Jesus Christ!"

When Santana's done, she's heaving. She can hear the gears turn in the mothers' heads. Santana's gone crazy. She's snapped. The poor thing. Pregnant, and she can barely handle one child.

She walks out of the room before Kerry can call her out on swearing.

* * *

><p><strong>7 PM:<strong>

She's just inhaling. Puck let her light one of her loopy aromatherapy candles in the living room. Usually he objects because he doesn't want his house to smell like Orchid Garden or Citrus Delight or some girly shit, but he figures Santana needs it today.

Plus, it makes Kerry happy too, and man, does that girl deserve it.

* * *

><p><strong>10 PM:<strong>

"Hey Kerry, Mommy is so sorry she ruined your birthday party."

Santana's never been one to apologize...for anything. But something about this situation just seems right.

Her daughter fiddles her thumbs. At three years old, she's basically a big kid now, and big kids don't suck their thumbs anymore.

"It's okay, Mommy. Thank you very much for the gift," Kerry responds, referring to her new trampoline.

Santana bursts out laughing. Given today's events, it's clear that three-year-old Kerry has better manners than Santana could ever have. Santana wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm so glad, Kerry."

* * *

><p><strong>1 AM:<strong>

The children are asleep at last. She says children, because she got talked into letting Alex sleep over. But Santana doesn't mind so much, because one day, boys won't be allowed to sleep over anymore, and Kerry might want to hold on to this moment.

* * *

><p><strong>4 AM:<strong>

Their door creaks open in the middle of the night, and the light from the hallway nightlight seeps into their bedroom, waking her up. Santana squints and there's a small figure in the shadows.

"Yes?"

"Auntie Santana, can you take me home?" It's Alex, with a case of homesickness.

So even though her baby is all grown up, clearly Quinn's isn't. This is a job for the husband. She jabs him in the spleen to wake him up. He can deal with this one.

* * *

><p><strong>7 AM:<strong>

"All packed?" Puck asks, patting the SUV door for good measure.

"Yup. You updated the GPS in here right?"

"Yeah." He lifts Kerry into her car seat. For a toddler, she looks pretty excited to be going on a three-hour car trip.

"Where are we going today, Kerry?" Santana coos from the front seat.

"Outlet mall!" squeals Kerry.

"What are we going to buy, Kerry?"

"Presents!"

"Who are we going to buy them for, Kerry?"

"Me!"

Puck chuckles. Kerry is definitely their daughter. Somebody has to spend all those gift cards...

Then a chant comes from the back seat.

"Outlet mall! Outlet mall! Outlet mall!"


End file.
